


The Hand of Ogun

by savlylee



Category: GOT7, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 2 lil puppies, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Jackson Wang, Badass Jackson, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, GOT7 is a frat, Guns, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jackson & Clint bromance, Jackson Needs a Hug, Jackson Wang Being A Little Shit, Jackson Wang gets beat up a lot, Jackson Wang-centric, Jackson has powers, Jackson is an Avenger, Jackson might be a lil ooc but dont worry hes still cute, Jackson's a frat bro, Kidnapping, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Orphan Jackson, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Iron Man 3, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Avengers, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Tony Stark, SHIELD Agent Jackson Wang, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Tony Stark Has A Heart, a lil bit of Steve Rogers bashing, fuck JYP, i feel like jackson and peter would have such a cute friendship, lmk what y'all think?, reading this makes me wanna add Peter Parker but idk, reporting for duty, sorry bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savlylee/pseuds/savlylee
Summary: I wasn't going to post this, but after hearing about GOT7's freedom from JYP Entertainment, I feel the need to celebrate. So here's some Jackson Wang content. :)Jackson Wang gets recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D. at 18 years old, and occasionally finds himself working alongside none other than the Avengers, Earth's mightiest heroes. When an old betrayal gets brought into the light, Jackson's and the Avengers' trust in one another takes a hit. With a new threat on the rise and its sights set on Jackson in particular, the team must come together despite their differences to prevent another attempt at world domination.****Or Jackson Wang constantly gets beat up and struggles with work/life balance. Nothing new there. @JYP
Relationships: Jackson Wang/Natasha Romanoff, Natasha Romanoff/Jackson Wang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mild violence and language.
> 
> I edited this to combine the two scenes into one chapter because I like it better. Otherwise, nothing else has changed.

Jackson's foot taps anxiously against the floor while the numbers skyrocket. His ankle throbs in protest, but he pays it no mind.

After what feels like an eternity, a high-pitched _ding_ fills the small space, and the elevator doors pull open to reveal the penthouse suite of Avengers Tower. He steps out, eyes lingering on the little vacant spot on the couch where an equally-little Squirtle plushie usually resides.

Then, Black Widow materializes out of thin air beside him, and he almost shrieks in alarm. She very generously doesn't comment on it. Instead, she just stares intensely, expression inscrutable.

"You hungry?"

The man blinks.

"Gee, hi, Tasha. How am I? Oh, I'm _great_ , only barely surviving the daily heart attacks. You know how it is--just another Thursday. Thanks for asking, anyway. Truthfully, I appreciate your concern for my well-being. You're such a good friend."

He averts his gaze, flustered by her unamused countenance. "Anyway, how are you?"

She continues to deadpan, "You didn't answer the question."

Jackson sighs, the ball of anxiety in his gut from before rearing its ugly head once again. "I'm not hungry. Is Tony here? He wanted to talk to me."

His tone is nonchalant, but when it comes to Natasha, his worries might as well be on full display.

He can feel her eyes boring into the side of his face. "Tony hasn't left his lab all day." She pivots and strides into the adjoined kitchen, leaving him awkwardly standing beside the bare couch, too intimidated to follow.

"Where's Clinton?" he wonders. "And Brucie? Matter of fact, where is _anyone_?" Spinning in place, he only now realizes how quiet it is. After getting no response from the kitchen, he sighs and descends the hall.

The lights are off in all of the rooms. The agent's gut knots with a different kind of anxiety now. Something doesn't feel right. Jackson clenches his teeth and cautiously continues toward Stark's lab. The distinct lack of blaring rock music alerts him that something's wrong instantly.

Upon opening the door, relief floods through the man at seeing the five heroes gathered around a worktable. Also, he's confused.

He can't discern the object of their attention as their bodies block his view, but he can see their stiffened backs and white knuckles. Rogers' jaw looks like it's about to crack from the force with which he's clenching it. Banner is looking a tinge green, and Thor seems close to tears. What's even more startling are the palpable fury scrawled across Clint's face and Tony's steely expression.

Jackson's considering turning around and leaving the decidedly hostile scene when Steve glances in his direction, his heated gaze firmly fixed on the agent's frozen figure. The man swallows as the captain straightens from his hunched-over position.

"Come here, son," Steve nods toward their huddle. Four heads snap up to look.

Ordinarily, the younger agent would have called the supersoldier out on the whole "son" thing, but now it didn't seem appropriate.

Jackson, electing on leaving instead, takes a half-step backward until a steady grip seizes his shoulder. He turns to see Natasha glaring back at him and realizes there's no way out. Not without someone getting hurt.

Heartbeat thundering in his chest, the agent reluctantly approaches the table, eyes downcast but chin up. Jackson isn't sure what he's done to so royally piss them all off.

"Why didn't you tell us?" someone asks.

Jackson looks up apprehensively. "Tell you what?"

Bruce forcefully exhales. "About Kyiv."

All at once, the air becomes too thick and the walls too close. With his heart now lodged in his throat, Jackson can do nothing but gape up at them, completely floored. His mind is racing, and his stomach churns.

His moment of emotional turmoil must take too long, for the next thing he knows, Rogers has him shoved against the wall. His big, meaty hand fists the collar of his tactical shirt. Jackson grunts as his spine makes contact with the edge of an electrical outlet box.

"When were you going to tell us that you murdered your field partner in cold blood?" the captain all but spits in the younger's face.

Thor places a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder, eyebrows knitted together. The betrayed look in the demigod's eyes adds another cut to the agent's already flayed heart. Jackson feels like he can't breathe anymore.

Rogers eventually lets go of the man's shirt with a little shove. Jackson stays quiet as the plastic box cracks behind his back. The noise causes him to flinch slightly, the muscles in his jaw briefly tightening. His eyes take on a distant gleam before he blinks back into focus.

Steve doesn't scare him. What does scare him is the silence coming from the other side of the table, where Nat, Tony, and Clint stand motionless.

Clint's eyes are hard, trained down at the metal surface beneath his splayed fingers. His lips are pursed like he has something to say but is holding himself back--an interrogation tactic or self-preservation, Jackson can't tell.

Natasha's gaze is cold, so cold Jackson shudders beneath its weight. Someone who he usually turns to for comfort now brings the opposite. Her red lips are downturned slightly as she supports her hip on the table's edge. She used to lean against him like that.

When his gaze flicks over to Tony, his breath catches. Already looking at the agent, the older man's walls had erected back into place, pushing Jackson out to where he had been when they first met. Once trusting, the billionaire now regards him warily. His folded arms, like a cage, shield himself from the agent.

The backs of Jackson's eyes burn, yet they remain dry. The ceiling lights flicker above them. White noise is booming in his ears, too indistinguishable from the ringing of concussions and distant gunfire--something's burning.

Round eyes dart along the perimeter of the lab. There's no smoke, but his nostrils sting from the heat.

"You're not getting out of this," Rogers steps into his line of sight.

Jackson doesn't have the heart to roll his eyes.

"We deserved to know who we were working with," Bruce chimes in.

 _Deserved_. It's as Jackson thought, then. They're removing him from the team.

Knees suddenly weak, the agent leans back against the outlet box, pinpricks of pain shooting down his hip. He doesn't know what to say or how to say it. It's as if his lungs have frozen up, and the oxygen ripped away from him. He feels like he's drowning.

"Why'd you do it, Jackson?"

His name leaving Tony's mouth startles him into sucking in air. Stark never calls him by his name. Usually, it's Jacky or kid. Jack, if he's serious.

"Why did you kill Agent O'Connor?"

Jackson hardly suppresses a shudder when hearing his former mentor's name. He gestures to the manila folder open on the worktable in the center of the room, its contents strewed for everyone to see. He thinks he glimpses a photograph of Randall O'Connor's body before wrenching his gaze away.

"Don't you already know?" He speaks around the lump in his throat, "Isn't that why you called me in here? I can see the debrief transcript; it's right there."

This time, it's Nat who addresses him, her tone sharp as she steps forward. "Why did you _really_ do it?"

Jackson couldn't retreat if he wanted to. Her eyes scrutinize his every move, every expression as if she knows he lied in his debriefing.

"Like I told Coulson, it was an accident."

Disappointment settles heavily across her brow.

"Maybe. But, the rest of your story doesn't add up," Dr. Banner squints at him from over Natasha's shoulder. "How did HYDRA know you were there? I've seen you on stealth missions, and Randall was no amateur. There had to have been a leak.

"You claimed you met up with Agent O'Connor in the bio lab, but he should have been on the other side of the compound. Forensics confirmed the bullet that took his life came from his sidearm, which either means you took his gun or you forced his hand. I mean, it's doubtful he shot himself. It's also noted that you refused medical care, and you didn't disclose any injuries in your debriefing. There are a lot of holes in your story, Jackson."

Jackson licks his lips. "I refused medical and didn't report any injuries because I wasn't injured. How is that a hole?"

"Because I saw the stab wound on your shoulder."

Jackson's head swivels, scrambled thoughts shrieking to a halt. Clint lifts his face and locks his eyes onto Jackson's for the first time. Natasha is stock-still between the two, poised.

"What are you trying to say, Clinton?"

Jackson realizes he has no right to feel angry with them, but it's better than the hurt viciously puncturing his ribs. He also understands first-hand Clint's longing for a fight. The two agents were always more alike than they came across. Jackson feels a tiny flare of accomplishment as Barton's eyes flash with rage. The archer is just too easy to provoke.

It was only inevitable that a brawl breaks out between them--they're two hotheads with trust issues and a tendency toward violence. It's a miracle they've made it this long.

Jackson is ready when Clint launches himself over the worktable, all graceful limbs and polished movements. His backside once again makes painful contact with the electrical outlet box, jagged shards of plastic digging into his skin. He's lucky he hasn't been electrocuted yet. Barton's fist connects solidly with the wall where the younger's head just was.

Jackson slams his knee into the other agent's thigh. He feels something drip down his back and seep into his waistband. Pure instinct has Jackson dodging the elbow aimed at the side of his head.

Clint's arm glances off his jaw. Jackson ducks and wraps his arms around the archer's midsection.

There's movement around them as they crash to the floor. A fist finds Jackson's temple.

Hands suddenly slot themselves under his biceps, effortlessly hauling him off of a writhing Clint. He struggles as his soles leave the ground.

When he's set back down, Thor's face hovers in front of his own. Clint curses furiously behind the demigod as Rogers and Bruce work at restraining him.

"Just tell us why you killed him!" Tony shouts, enraged. "Tell me why you betrayed your mentor and _lied_ to me about it!"

"He betrayed _me_!" Jackson finally snaps.

The arguing voices of the others stop all at once, silence dawning in the room. Thor's solid grip on Jackson's shoulders is the only thing holding him up now. His panting breaths sound loud in the stillness of the moment.

"I killed him out of self-defense. He wanted the flash drive so he could take down SHIELD from the inside. He told me Fury was responsible for the deaths of his family members. His goal was revenge, and I stood in his way. So I shot him in the chest and left with the files."

Jackson tilts his head back and breathes out slow and long, years of torment playing on a loop in his mind's eye. Randall's bared bloody teeth flash behind his retinas, and he feels nauseous. The young man chances a hesitant glance down to see their wide eyes and shocked faces. He avoids looking at Tony and Natasha. Barton's face hides behind the captain's broad back.

"I lied because Fury and Coulson didn't want anybody to know, especially any of you. No one hears about this." Feeling lightheaded, Jackson shrugs off Thor's grip and turns to leave, "I'll have my stuff packed up and out of here by the weekend."

* * *

To say things are awkward would be putting it mildly. Jackson hasn't been avoiding the Avengers. He's just been busy. Nighttime is his only chance to sneak away to the tower.

Friday night, after his pediatrics course, he finds himself exactly where he was yesterday. His foot taps the floor as the elevator ascends. The number '93' lights up, and the doors open to reveal the Avengers' suite.

Bruce sits alone on the couch, a book perched at the end of his nose. He lowers it as Jackson enters, back stiff.

"Jackson," he removes his glasses and sets them on the glass coffee table along with his now-closed book. "I was starting to think you were never going to come back."

"Don't worry, I won't be here long. I only came to get my stuff, and then I'll be out of your hair." Jackson doesn't stick around to hear his response as he strides down the hall and opens his--no, _the_ \--bedroom door.

His Squirtle plushie smiles up at him from the bed. He pauses, takes his backpack off, and sets it leaning against the bedpost. There's a sheet of paper centered on the desk, and he frowns, wondering when the room got so organized. He honestly couldn't remember what the surface of that desk looked like. Now, looking at its black sheen, he recalls--marble. He told Tony not to get him one at all, but the man never listens to him anyway.

Ignoring the solitary paper, he swivels the drawers around and pulls the top one open. His fingertips ghost along the Glock resting inside. Randall gave it to him after their first mission together, said it was his father's.

Jackson slams the drawer shut.

Sighing, his eyes wander over to the paper. It's a letter addressed to him. He can already tell by the neat penmanship who wrote it. Swiping it off the desktop, the agent sits on the edge of the bed and reads.

> _Jack,_
> 
> _First off, I know I owe you an apology. I never should have accused you of betraying someone you knew better than I did. I should have trusted you had your own reasons for your actions and not telling the team about it. I was selfish and stupid, and I would like to tell you it won't happen again, but I think we both know that that's not something I can guarantee. I am gonna try and work on that. I can, however, promise you that from now on, I'm here. For whatever you need._
> 
> _I'm gonna be honest, I was angry. At Coulson for making you feel like you couldn't tell anyone. At Fury for what happened to Agent O'Connor's family--I did some more "research" on SHIELD's confidential archives (because Nick Fury is a shady bastard, and no amount of security can keep me from digging up his dirt). But most of all, I'm angry at myself for failing you. I know I have issues when it comes to trusting others, but I like to think that when someone finally earns that trust, they earn all of it. I'm sorry I never gave you all, Jackson. As far as mentors go (if I can even call myself one), you've been dealt a really shitty hand, kid._
> 
> _That being said, I'm also disappointed. I tend to react badly when I find out people close to me are deliberately hiding things. But, I totally understand why you didn't tell us about Kyiv. It's none of our business, after all. I'm disappointed you felt like you had to deal with this on your own. But you've got me now, and as much as it pains me to admit this, I'd love to hear about your emotions and shit._
> 
> _Once you're done reading this, kindly burn it. It was hard enough writing this; I don't need everyone to incessantly remind me about it._
> 
> _Take care, Jacky._
> 
> _-T_
> 
> _P.S.- I put your Squirtle on your bed. He was in the wash, and I thought you might want to take him with you. It's okay, if not. He'll always have a home here._

A falling droplet lands on the letter, soaking into the thick parchment. Sniffling, Jackson hurriedly shoves the paper in the desk drawer as the bedroom door opens with a knock.

Bruce hovers nervously on the threshold. "Hi," he clears his throat.

Jackson ignores him and continues placing his possessions in his bag, leaving the plushie on the bed behind him. All that's left are the gun and the letter, which he's not too sure he wants to keep. Reading it once was painful enough, but a second time? Jackson's no masochist.

"This probably won't mean much to you, but I am sorry. I should have trusted you. And I _know you_. You have the strongest moral compass out of all of us, and I wrongly judged you regardless. The law is supposed to practice 'innocent until proven guilty,' and the same goes for the Avengers. I can't speak for the others, but I know they're just as apologetic as I am. We're all sorry we failed you, Jack."

Jackson frowns up at the doctor, but Bruce continues to avoid his searching eyes.

"And we understand if you feel like you have to leave because of it. We don't want you to, but whatever you think is best for you, we won't stand in your way."

The younger agent shakes his head as he stands. "Brucie," he whispers. "I get your distrust in me. I haven't exactly been the most honest."

Jackson finally catches Banner's eyes when the doctor looks up. Brow furrowing in concern, he parts his lips to speak, but Jackson doesn't give him a chance.

"I forgive you," the agent places a hand on his shoulder. "And the others."

There are tears in the doctor's eyes. They shine behind the lenses of his glasses.

"But I'm not sure if I can just forget what happened," Jackson continues, voice hushed. "I see his face everywhere I go. I hear his voice in all of yours. I don't know who I can trust anymore, and I'm so _tired_ all the time."

He wants to cry, but he has nothing left. His tear ducts have run dry, the last drop staining Tony's letter. He's still recovering from Randall's murder-- _death_ , he reminds himself. It never quite sticks.

"You have no reason to trust us after how we treated you," Banner observes him cautiously. "But we are here for you. I'm here for you, Jackson."

The agent nods distantly and turns his back to him, chest constricting and thoughts whirring. He doesn't know what to believe. He thought he could trust Randall, too.

Bruce leaves the room silently, and he's just thankful the older man doesn't have to see him crumble. Jackson trembles like a leaf in the wind with nothing but a delicate stem to keep him attached. His tree is dying, and he's barely holding on.

He hurriedly crosses the room and wrenches open the windows at the foot of the bed. Crisp autumn air gushes in his face, soothing his flushed neck and cheeks. He closes his eyes, breathing in the sounds of nighttime Manhattan. The city lights glisten below like a sea of stars, burning hot in the hours of darkness. It reminds the agent of his childhood. He grimaces and closes the window.

Jackson mindlessly reopens the desk drawer, grabs the pistol and the letter, and shoves them both in his bag, quickly zipping it up and flinging it over his shoulder. He tugs the bedroom door open and nearly smacks his forehead into Natasha's chin in his haste to escape. Her closed fist hovers uncertainly between them, a rare and honest expression of diffidence on her face.

"Sorry," she lowers her arm.

Jackson sighs, already drained as his heartbeat gradually returns to normal. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why she's here. He knows how hard it is for her to apologize. He patiently waits while she tentatively scans his face--for what, he has no clue.

Nat softly clears her throat. "I shouldn't have judged you without listening first. I was wrong."

Jackson says nothing, even when she starts to fidget under his gaze. He's never seen her so discomposed. Her collected demeanor has always drawn him in, like a pet bird tied to a string. He could only go so far before being yanked back.

"I'm sorry, Jack."

Despite the uncomfortable body language and fleeting glances down the hall, her feet face him, and her eyes glimmer with sincerity. She looks faintly nauseous.

Concerned, the man places his hand on her shoulder. He can feel her stiffen briefly before relaxing under his touch. They've always been better with actions than with words. Still, he speaks.

"I forgive you."

In the tender quiet of the dim corridor, Jackson gingerly brushes his knuckles against the edge of her jaw. He tries not to laugh as her eyes dart down the expanse of the hall. If anyone else were to try this, they'd end up bloody. He cups her crimsoned cheek in his palm. Nat leans into his touch, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly against her creamy cheekbones.

"I do trust you," she whispers fondly. "I'm just hurt that you couldn't trust me."

His hand reluctantly drops to his side, and he nods remorsefully. "I know."

Natasha comfortingly hooks her fingers in his belt loops. He thinks she's too good for him.

"At the time, I thought you were against me," he murmurs in the dark. "I know I haven't known you all as long, and I kind of am the new guy, but..."

Nat tugs softly, bringing their bodies closer. Inches away, he can see the fierce resolve in her smoldering green orbs.

"You may be new, but you're no stranger," she insists. "Not to me."

Jackson shakes his head, heart throbbing even as he tells her, "You were just trying to protect your team, I get it. If I was in your place, I'd have done the sa--"

Natasha's lips clash with his. Exhaling, Jackson frames her face in his large hands, thumbs tracing the delicate apples of her cheeks, fingers sinking into the mess of scarlet waves behind her ears. His mind goes still, worries all but forgotten. He licks the line of her pillowy lips, parting them easily as the kiss progresses.

Finally, reluctantly, they break away from each other--hot breaths fill the space between them.

"You are my team," she breathes, lips brushing his. "And I forgive you, too, idiot."

All at once, the fight leaves his body, and he sags against her. Chest hitching, he's embraced in her arms. His own wind their way around her waist, further crushing their bodies together. Jackson can feel her slender fingers card through his hair, and tears he didn't think he had left in him wet her shoulder.

"I can't get him out of my head," he rasps.

Jackson doesn't protest as Nat wordlessly opens the door behind him and shuffles them inside, closing and locking it behind her. The corners of Natasha's mouth lift slightly at the sight of the Squirtle plushie nestled between the pillows. They fall back down when she feels Jackson quiver minutely beneath her hands. With an aching heart, Romanoff helps him settle onto the bed with her head pillowed on his chest. She doesn't say anything, just lets him hold her tightly.

His chest is broad and warm under her palms, but it quakes now and then as he tries to reign in his cries. His hands leave trails of heat up and down her spine. Nat tilts her head and presses her lips against the apple of his throat. She's always loved the scent of him--he smells of aftershave, pine, and mint. She thinks he must have taken a shower before leaving for his night class.

"I can't keep staying here, Tash," he says into her hair. She hadn't even noticed he stopped crying. "My friends are getting suspicious every time I come home, injured at four in the morning."

"You know you're always welcome to stay here, not just as the Phoenix."

"I know, but it's gonna take me some time," Jackson mumbles. "Besides, you'll still get to see me at the mission meetings. Phil thinks I'm gonna be sticking with you guys for a while, even after this assignment."

Nat hums thoughtfully against his collarbone, her fingers drawing absentminded shapes on his chest. Jackson's skin buzzes with energy from where their bodies connect, even through the fabrics of their clothes. It took him a long time to figure out that it wasn't his powers causing it. It's alarming how alive she makes him feel.

"Do you want that?"

Jackson pauses, considering. "I think so." A smirk crawls up his lips, "I don't think your captain likes me very much, though."

His observation startles a laugh out of the redhead. Eyes shut and cheek smooshed, Nat grins. "No, I don't think he does, either."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'll start off with a brief warning:  
> There is some mild violence in this chapter, nothing too graphic, but violence all the same  
> There are some mentions of religions, but I want to stress that this IS NOT A RELIGIOUS STORY, it just features religion.
> 
> That being said, I took a world religions class in college over the summer and would like to think I'm fairly knowledgeable on the subject, but that's not to say I'm an expert! So, if there are any discrepancies, please feel free to correct me! I don't want to offend anyone by publishing false information.
> 
> That's all, thanks. :)
> 
> EDIT: I added a scene to this chapter and didn't change much of the first. Hope ya like it c:

This time, when the elevator doors glide open, Jackson heads straight into the kitchen without a glance at the seven pairs of eyes following him. He finds his mug in the cupboard left of the fridge and sets about brewing a fresh batch of coffee when he hears someone enter behind him. He rubs absentmindedly at the bruises staining his knuckles.

"Can we do this later, Thor?" He leans his hip wearily against the counter, arms crossed gingerly over his chest. His ribs twinge in response. The skin around his eyes feels swollen from exhaustion. He hears nothing for a moment, just the other man's steady breathing. Ultimately, Thor sighs dejectedly and walks back out. Tension bleeds from the agent's frame as his coffee finishes brewing.

Fury side-eyes him when he exits the kitchen. "Is that all, or do you want someone to make you breakfast, too?"

"Are you offering, Nick?" he smirks, no longer as tired.

Agent Coulson deliberately steps between them and swipes across Stark's holographic screen, projecting multiple planes of holograms around them. "News reports show someone breaking into the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Warsaw. The soldier's body under the central part of the Saxon Palace was exhumed, and the five eternal flames were, to quote one of the honor guards, 'stolen.' They said whoever did it was a dark-skinned female with white hair and 'tattoos' all over her body."

"Archangel," Rogers points out the obvious.

Jackson's eyes narrow, "Wait, you said she 'stole' the flames? So she can control fire?"

Fury points to one of the holograms--a surveillance video aimed at the tomb. "Take a look for yourself, Agent Wang."

A white colonnade occupies the screen, stone tablets spaced under the arcades. For a moment, there's nothing but a guard standing motionless in the night, five fires illuminating his steely expression. The soldier's face abruptly scrunches, and he bends over at the waist, desperately clutching at his throat. There's no sound, but if there was, Jackson bets they'd all bear witness to the gasps of a dying man.

A short and slim woman strolls into view, white hair dangling in dozens of tiny braids down her back. Chalky tribal markings adorn her darker skin like tattoos, running down her bare arms, stomach, and legs--some even dotting her face. In her hands, she holds a staff, gold runes glowing in its light-colored wood. She pauses by the guard, staring down with what Jackson imagines to be mild disinterest. Eventually, the woman approaches one of the sconces and raises her hand over the orange flame. Jackson leans in close, eyes narrowed in concentration as the fire seems to suck up into her palm.

He steps forward. "Zoom in, Jar."

JARVIS silently complies, and the footage magnifies until the woman's hand swallows the frame. He can feel the stares of the others as he tracks the flames in the video. "She's not a fire coda," he confirms.

"And how could you possibly know that from watching a single video?" Rogers scowls at him.

Jackson can't help but roll his eyes slightly, already annoyed by the upcoming conversation. "Because I'm not called the Phoenix for nothing. And the flames don't go into her hand. Look closer, _Captain_ , and you'll see the fire die out before it actually touches her."

Steve clenches his jaw at the agent's disrespectful tone but peers back at the paused video.

Fury nods. "He's right. Agent Coulson and I believe she used the oxygen in the air to manipulate the fire."

"An air coda," Jackson breathes.

Agent Romanoff observes him from her position by the hologram. None of them have ever encountered an air coda before.

"So then why'd she put out the fires?" Barton asks.

"We think her motives are religious," Agent Coulson says. "Fire is seen as a manifestation of God in the Christian faith. It symbolizes God's wrath and the judgment and destruction that are often extensions of that wrath.

"Take lightning, for example," he turns to Thor. "Literal fire from heaven."

Thor furrows his brow, a bewildered scowl pulling at his lips. "What a strange thing to believe. Lightning is not fire; it is lightning."

"Fire can also represent rebirth," Barton gestures to Jackson.

Tony suddenly shoves a tablet in Agent Coulson's face. "Look familiar?"

Standing beside Fury, Jackson can clearly see the screen--a complex geometric symbol of parallel lines and stars--and Tony's raised brow. Jackson presses his lips together and glances back toward the paused footage. Etched on the back of the woman's hand is the very same marking.

"The symbol of Ogun, Yoruba god of war, hunting, and ironworking. According to religious scholars, Yoruba is an African indigenous religion with 'high regard for metal as a combination of earth, wind, and fire,' which sounds fucking pretentious to me."

Dr. Banner raises his hand to interject. "If she can control the wind, then, theoretically, that just leaves two elements that she needs to make metal, right?"

"But she put the fires out," Natasha points out.

Jackson stays quiet, mind racing to catch up.

 _What reason would she have to_ \--

Then he remembers.

His spine straightens. "Phil, you said the Unknown Soldier's body was dug up but was it missing?"

Agent Coulson shakes his head. "No, reports show only--"

He freezes.

Jackson watches as realization dawns.

"Holy shit."

"What?" Clint barks.

Agent Coulson's wide eyes tell Jackson his theory was right. "You and your damn intuitive leaps," the older man mutters, amazed.

Turning to the others, Coulson pulls up another tab on the hologram, this time an image of the burial site. "The only thing missing from the tomb was the urn containing soil from the battleground at Lviv, where the soldier presumably died."

Tony Stark regards Jackson with something akin to pride. The agent smooths a palm over his stomach, uncomfortable.

Agent Romanoff finally says what's been on her mind since Tony showed everyone that symbol. "She could be planning to go after the Phoenix next."

"To get her fire," Steve finishes needlessly.

"We should look at locations with high heat signatures just to be sure," Bruce suggests. "Breaks in the mantle, volcanic zones, and lighting hot spots, to name a few."

"Good idea." Director Fury collapses the holograms. "Until we know exactly where it is she's headed next, Agent Wang, you're under strict order not to leave this tower."

Jackson nearly spit-takes his coffee. "Nick, I'm not sure you've noticed, but I have a life outside of work. I have fieldwork courses that expect my time. I'm almost finished with my degree, and I can't afford to dick around doing nothing because I'm on house arrest. No one even knows who the Phoenix is."

"Have Stark contact your school and get them to send the classwork online--it's really not my problem. We can't take any chances. You're not leaving the tower, and that's final, agent."

"I can't--" Jackson bites his tongue and spins on his heel, walking out onto the roof.

 _Who_ the fuck _does Fury think he is?_

Jackson's aware he's being stubborn and irrational, but he doesn't care. He's pissed. This coursework is crucial for his future. There's too much riding on this for him not to show up. Not to mention his frat mates will wonder where he is after days of not seeing him. He already spent the weekend "helping his parents pack." He hasn't seen his parents since he was nine, but his friends think they're moving to Montana. It's not like he could just tell them that he's staying in Montana for a while longer, especially since he left all of his crap in the frat house.

 _At least I have my phone_ , he sulks, frustrated.

Jackson pulls the device from his pants' pocket; missed calls and notifications bury his lock screen. Tapping one of the numerous voicemails, he sighs and brings it to his ear just as a familiar voice filters through.

"Hi Jackson, this is Dr. Bullen calling about a possible meeting time for your first patient. As you've probably figured out by now, graduates enrolled in this course are expected to be able to help their patients recover, improve, and maintain the skills..." Dr. Bullen's droning fades away as the agent slowly lowers the phone. Jackson breathes harshly through his nose and tries to swallow around the bitter taste in his mouth.

_They're gonna drop me from the class._

He can see the Avengers sitting in the living room, Fury and Coulson long gone. Their serious conversation from earlier seems to have turned into one more jovial as Thor throws his head back in a laugh Jackson can practically hear from outside. Rogers sits next to him, amicably brushing shoulders as Bruce sputters, red-faced at the other end of the sofa. Nat's disgusted posture and Tony's smug grin tell Jackson enough about the scene. The young agent's brow furrows when he can't locate the archer among them.

The rooftop door opens to his left, and Agent Barton steps out, short hair ruffling in the breeze. He stops beside the younger man, wordlessly glancing down at the lit-up cellphone in his hand. Jackson pockets it and returns to watching the four heroes through the glass walls.

"Thor wanted to be the first to apologize, you know," Clint mutters.

Jackson hums noncommittally. They both stifle a chuckle when Nat cuffs Stark on the back of his head. The billionaire turns with a scowl until he sees her murderous expression.

Barton awkwardly clears his throat. "What's the real reason why you didn't tell us?"

Jackson inhales the humid city air. The time on his phone said it was nearing four in the morning. He thinks if he pretends he didn't hear him, then the older agent might leave him alone. He's never been known to have good luck, though.

"I know you don't give a shit about what Fury thinks, and I also know Coulson wouldn't subject you to blackmail--you're like a son to him. It's kinda gross, honestly."

"Stop," he grits.

"Stop what?!" The archer throws his hands up, aggravated. "Trying to understand you? Is that what this is about? You're afraid of being predictable? Well, I have news for ya: no one _ever_ knows what you'll do next. Apparently, neither did Ran--"

Jackson throws his shoulder into the blonde, cutting his rant short with a grunt. They stumble back, falling against the rooftop in a tangle of writhing limbs. The two agents roll for a few seconds, and Barton lands on top, fist already cocked behind him. It falls hard on Jackson's jaw. The younger agent flips them. Clint blocks the blow aimed at his face. Misses the one at his ribs.

Jackson's mouth tastes like iron. "Don't you fucking _dare_ bring him into this!" He elbows Barton in the forehead.

A quick series of jabs find Jackson's sternum, and they roll. The archer starts landing punches while Jackson gasps for air. Chest heaving, the younger agent struggles to draw in a steady breath. His knuckles connect forcefully with Clint's temple, sending the shorter man tipping to his left. He bucks his hips to throw him off. The blonde rears up for another attack when he notices Jackson's face. A deep line of pain cuts between his brows as he spits a glob of blood onto the gravel rooftop. His breaths come in wheezes, and his already swollen left hand pushes forcibly against his sternum.

"Jack?" Clint exhales.

"Jack?!"

Hurried footfalls grow closer. Tony slides to his knees beside the young agent, hands hovering over the curve of his straining back. He can hear Rogers berating Clint in the background--his Captain's Voice is typically stern.

"Jack, let me see," Nat places her smaller hand over his straining fingers that are burrowing into the gravel. He lets her and Tony maneuver him until he's on his back with his shirt hitched under his armpits. Someone gasps.

"This is from your last assignment?" Natasha bites.

"Wait, did he just get off a mission?" Clint asks, incredulous.

"Yes, you moron. He was over in Nova Scotia literally not even twelve hours ago." 

"Why didn't anyone ever tell me?!"

"You shouldn't need to be told!"

"The real question is: why didn't you visit medical, son?" Steve leans over him.

Jackson coughs. "Don't call me son."

He groans when one of Natasha's fingers prods too roughly. He thinks she did that on purpose. It's difficult to tell just by looking at her, though.

"They're broken, but nothing's punctured. Let's go get you taped up."

Tony exhales next to him, hand tightly gripping his shoulder. "Jeez, kid," he shakes his head. "You really know how to give a guy gray hairs, don't ya?"

A thoughtful expression crosses the billionaire's face. "I'm gonna start wrapping you in bubble wrap."

"Please don't."

Reluctantly, with the team's assistance, Jackson ambles back inside. They carefully sit on the couch. Thor appears with an armful of ice packs. He dumps them on the couch next to the injured agent.

Jackson laughs, then winces. "I'm fine, guys. Really."

"Tell that to the giant stormcloud rolling across your entire torso," Tony snarks.

"I see no clouds," Thor frowns, freeing a hand to tug at the agent's shirt.

Jackson slaps the offending limb away and looks at them all-- _really_ looks. Their worried faces watch him back.

"Can someone get my Squirtle?"

* * *

This time, when the elevator doors glide open, Jackson heads straight into the kitchen without a glance at the seven pairs of eyes following him. He finds his mug in the cupboard left of the fridge and sets about brewing a fresh batch of coffee when he hears someone enter behind him. He rubs absentmindedly at the bruises staining his knuckles.

"Can we do this later, Thor?" He leans his hip wearily against the counter, arms crossed gingerly over his chest. His ribs twinge in response. The skin around his eyes feels swollen from exhaustion.

He hears nothing for a moment, just the other man's steady breathing. Ultimately, Thor sighs dejectedly and walks back out. Tension bleeds from the agent's frame as his coffee finishes brewing.

Fury side-eyes him when he exits the kitchen. "Is that all, or do you want someone to make you breakfast, too?"

"Are you offering, Nick?" he smirks, no longer as tired.

Agent Coulson deliberately steps between them and swipes across Stark's holographic screen, projecting multiple planes of holograms around them.

"News reports show someone breaking into the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Warsaw. The soldier's body under the central part of the Saxon Palace was exhumed, and the five eternal flames were, to quote one of the honor guards, 'stolen.' They said whoever did it was a dark-skinned female with white hair and 'tattoos' all over her body."

"Archangel," Rogers points out the obvious.

Jackson's eyes narrow, "Wait, you said she 'stole' the flames? So she can control fire?"

Fury points to one of the holograms--a surveillance video aimed at the tomb. "Take a look for yourself, Agent Wang."

A white colonnade occupies the screen, stone tablets spaced under the arcades. For a moment, there's nothing but a guard standing motionless in the night, five fires illuminating his steely expression.

The soldier's face abruptly scrunches, and he bends over at the waist, desperately clutching at his throat. There's no sound, but if there was, Jackson bets they'd all bear witness to the gasps of a dying man.

A short and slim woman strolls into view, white hair dangling in dozens of tiny braids down her back. Chalky tribal markings adorn her darker skin like tattoos, running down her bare arms, stomach, and legs--some even dotting her face. In her hands, she holds a staff, gold runes glowing in its light-colored wood. She pauses by the guard, staring down with what Jackson imagines to be mild disinterest.

Eventually, the woman approaches one of the sconces and raises her hand over the orange flame. Jackson leans in close, eyes narrowed in concentration as the fire seems to suck up into her palm.

He steps forward. "Zoom in, Jar."

JARVIS silently complies, and the footage magnifies until the woman's hand swallows the frame. He can feel the stares of the others as he tracks the flames in the video.

"She's not a fire coda," he confirms.

"And how could you possibly know that from watching a single video?" Rogers scowls at him.

Jackson can't help but roll his eyes slightly, already annoyed by the upcoming conversation. "Because I'm not called the Phoenix for nothing. And the flames don't go into her hand. Look closer,  _ Captain _ , and you'll see the fire die out before it actually touches her."

Steve clenches his jaw at the agent's disrespectful tone but peers back at the paused video.

Fury nods. "He's right. Agent Coulson and I believe she used the oxygen in the air to manipulate the fire."

"An air coda," Jackson breathes.

Agent Romanoff observes him from her position by the hologram. He's never encountered an air coda before.

"So then why'd she put out the fires?" Barton asks.

"We think her motives are religious," Agent Coulson says. "Fire is seen as a manifestation of God in the Christian faith. It symbolizes God's wrath and the judgment and destruction that are often extensions of that wrath.

"Take lightning, for example," he turns to Thor. "Literal fire from heaven."

Thor furrows his brow, a bewildered scowl pulling at his lips. "What a strange thing to believe. Lightning is not fire; it is lightning."

"Fire can also represent rebirth," Barton gestures to Jackson.

Tony suddenly shoves a tablet in Agent Coulson's face. "Look familiar?"

Standing beside Fury, Jackson can clearly see the screen--a complex geometric symbol of parallel lines and stars--and Tony's raised brow. Jackson presses his lips together and glances back toward the paused footage. Etched on the back of the woman's hand is the very same marking.

"The symbol of Ogun, Yoruba god of war, hunting, and ironworking. According to religious scholars, Yoruba is an African indigenous religion with 'high regard for metal as a combination of earth, wind, and fire,' which sounds pretentious."

Dr. Banner raises his hand to interject. "If she can control the wind, then, theoretically, that just leaves two elements that she needs to make metal, right?"

"But she put the fires out," Natasha points out.

Jackson stays quiet, mind racing to catch up.

_ What reason would she have to _ \--

Then he remembers.

His spine straightens. "Phil, you said the Unknown Soldier's body was dug up, but was it missing?"

Agent Coulson shakes his head. "No, reports show only--"

He freezes.

Jackson watches as realization dawns.

"Holy shit."

"What?" Clint barks.

Agent Coulson's wide eyes tell Jackson his theory was right.

"You and your damn intuitive leaps," the older man mutters, amazed.

Turning to the others, Coulson pulls up another tab on the hologram, this time an image of the burial site. "The only thing missing from the tomb was the urn containing soil from the battleground at Lviv, where the soldier presumably died."

Tony Stark regards Jackson with something akin to pride. The agent smooths a palm over his stomach, uncomfortable.

Agent Romanoff finally says what's been on her mind since Tony showed everyone that symbol. "She could be planning to go after the Phoenix next."

"To get her fire," Steve finishes needlessly.

"We should look at locations with high heat signatures just to be sure," Bruce suggests. "Breaks in the mantle, volcanic zones, and lighting hot spots, to name a few."

"Good idea." Director Fury collapses the holograms. "Until we know exactly where it is she's headed next, Agent Wang, you're under strict order not to leave this tower."

Jackson nearly spit-takes his coffee.

"Nick, I'm not sure you've noticed, but I have a life outside of work. I have fieldwork courses that expect my time. I'm almost finished with my degree, and I can't afford to dick around doing nothing because I'm on house arrest. No one even knows who the Phoenix is."

"Have Stark contact your school and get them to send the classwork online--it's really not my problem. We can't take any chances. You're not leaving the tower, and that's final, agent."

"I can't--" Jackson bites his tongue and spins on his heel, walking out onto the roof.

_ Who  _ the fuck _ does Fury think he is? _

Jackson's aware he's being stubborn and irrational, but he doesn't care. He's pissed. This coursework is crucial for his future. There's too much riding on this for him not to show up. Not to mention his frat mates will wonder where he is after days of not seeing him. He already spent the weekend "helping his parents pack." He hasn't seen his parents since he was nine, but his friends think they're moving to Montana. It's not like he could just tell them that he's staying in Montana for a while longer, especially since he left all of his crap in the frat house.

_ At least I have my phone _ , he sulks, frustrated.

Jackson pulls the device from his pants' pocket; missed calls and notifications bury his lock screen. Tapping one of the numerous voicemails, he sighs and brings it to his ear just as a familiar voice filters through.

"Hi Jackson, this is Dr. Bullen calling about a possible meeting time for your first patient. As you've probably figured out by now, graduates enrolled in this course are expected to be able to help their patients recover, improve, and maintain the skills..."

Dr. Bullen's droning fades away as the agent slowly lowers the phone. Jackson breathes harshly through his nose and tries to swallow around the bitter taste in his mouth.

_ They're gonna drop me from the class. _

He can see the Avengers sitting in the living room, Fury and Coulson long gone. Their serious conversation from earlier seems to have turned into one more jovial as Thor throws his head back in a laugh Jackson can practically hear from outside. Rogers sits next to him, amicably brushing shoulders as Bruce sputters, red-faced at the other end of the sofa. Nat's disgusted posture and Tony's smug grin tell Jackson enough about the scene. The young agent's brow furrows when he can't locate the archer among them.

The rooftop door opens to his left, and Agent Barton steps out, short hair ruffling in the breeze. He stops beside the younger man, wordlessly glancing down at the lit-up cellphone in his hand.

Jackson pockets it and returns to watching the four heroes through the glass walls.

"Thor wanted to be the first to apologize, you know," Clint mutters.

Jackson hums noncommittally. They both stifle a chuckle when Nat cuffs Stark on the back of his head. The billionaire turns with a scowl until he sees her murderous expression.

Barton awkwardly clears his throat. "What's the real reason why you didn't tell us?"

Jackson inhales the humid city air. The time on his phone said it was nearing four in the morning. He thinks if he pretends he didn't hear him, then the older agent might leave him alone.

He's never been known to have good luck, though.

"I know you don't give a shit about what Fury thinks, and I also know Coulson wouldn't subject you to blackmail--you're like a son to him. It's kinda gross."

"Stop," he grits.

"Stop what?!" The archer throws his hands up, aggravated. "Trying to understand you? Is that what this is about? You're afraid of being predictable? Well, I have news for ya: no one  _ ever _ knows what you'll do next. Apparently, neither did Ran--"

Jackson throws his shoulder into the blonde, cutting his rant short with a grunt. They stumble back, falling against the rooftop in a tangle of writhing limbs. The two agents roll for a few seconds, and Barton lands on top, fist already cocked behind him. It falls hard on Jackson's jaw.

The younger agent flips them. Clint blocks the blow aimed at his face. Misses the one at his ribs.

Jackson's mouth tastes like iron.

"Don't you fucking  _ dare _ bring him into this!"

He elbows Barton in the forehead.

A quick series of jabs find Jackson's sternum, and they roll. The archer starts landing punches while Jackson gasps for air. Chest heaving, the younger agent struggles to draw in a steady breath. His knuckles connect forcefully with Clint's temple, sending the shorter man tipping to his left. He bucks his hips to throw him off.

The blonde rears up for another attack when he notices Jackson's face. A deep line of pain cuts between his brows as he spits a glob of blood onto the gravel rooftop. His breaths come in wheezes, and his already swollen left hand pushes forcibly against his sternum.

"Jack?" Clint exhales.

"Jack?!"

Hurried footfalls grow closer. Tony slides to his knees beside the young agent, hands hovering over the curve of his straining back. He can hear Rogers berating Clint in the background--his Captain's Voice is typically stern.

"Jack, let me see," Nat places her smaller hand over his straining fingers that are burrowing into the gravel.

He lets her and Tony maneuver him until he's on his back with his shirt hitched under his armpits. Someone gasps.

"This is from your last assignment?" Natasha bites.

"Wait, did he just get off a mission?" Clint asks, incredulous.

"Yes, you moron. He was over in Nova Scotia literally not even twelve hours ago." 

"Why didn't anyone ever tell me?!"

"You shouldn't need to be told!"

"The real question is: why didn't you visit medical, son?" Steve leans over him.

Jackson coughs. "Don't call me son."

He groans when one of Natasha's fingers prods too roughly. He thinks she did that on purpose. It's difficult to tell just by looking at her, though.

"They're broken, but nothing's punctured. Let's go get you taped up."

Tony exhales next to him, hand tightly gripping his shoulder.

"Jeez, kid," he shakes his head. "You really know how to give a guy gray hairs, don't ya?"

A thoughtful expression crosses the billionaire's face.

"I'm gonna start wrapping you in bubble wrap."

"Please don't."

Reluctantly, with the team's assistance, Jackson ambles back inside. They carefully sit on the couch.

Thor appears with an armful of ice packs.

Jackson laughs, then winces. "I'm fine, guys. Really."

"Tell that to the giant stormcloud rolling across your entire torso," Tony snarks.

"I see no clouds," Thor frowns, freeing a hand to tug at the agent's shirt.

Jackson slaps the offending limb away and looks at them all-- _ really _ looks. Their worried faces watch him back.

"Can someone get my Squirtle?"

#

House arrest isn't  _ terrible _ , per se; it's just that Jackson is a highly active human being. Randall joked that he had ADHD, said he was like a hyperactive puppy. In hindsight, he realizes that wasn't necessarily a compliment.

Fortunately, remaining in the tower doesn't apply to missions. Jackson had to fight for that privilege.

He's currently locked in battle with a warrior made of metal. The Avengers are occupied with their own Mercury Men, as they've taken to calling them. A platinum blonde woman, dressed in gunmetal-gray and blood-red armor, stands vigil over the battlefield that the Brooklyn Bridge has become. Eyes half-shut in boredom, she watches them fight while twirling ribbons of liquid metal in the air around her fingers. A traffic camera picked up imaging of Archangel in communication with a woman named Irene Silva, but she calls herself Mercury. Law enforcement dumped the metal coda in a maximum-security correctional facility in Bedford Hills four years ago. What she's now doing in Brooklyn, they have an idea.

"I've already told you, I don't work for Archangel," Silva sighs dramatically in exasperation.

Captain America and Black Widow take turns dodging and attacking a surrounding crowd of metalloid creatures. Thor's lightning catapults a group of Mercury Men off the bridge next to Jackson, who melts the leg of another just as it rises up to strike at the demigod's back.

"We know Archangel helped you escape Bedford Hills. What's in it for her?" Iron Man shoots two missiles at Irene. A pair of Mercury Men shield her. The projectiles detonate safely in the other direction.

An ominous groaning sound rumbles through the asphalt.

The beams stretching over Jackson's head are decomposing.

The agent lunges to the right.

The shaft barely misses him as it clangs to the ground. A deafening explosion of sound makes him recoil, elbows scraping against the cracked road. Hands out for balance, Jackson manages to stand on unsteady legs. He works his jaw in an attempt to dissipate the incessant ringing in his ears.

Mercury hikes her trim eyebrows up in entertainment. "Quick reflexes you have there, pretty bird. Continue to woo me and I might just tell you my secret." Her teeth gleam in the sunlight.

Growling under his breath, Jackson shoves a wall of flames at her. Irene skillfully evades. The two exchange blasts of metal and fire; girders and grates and sparks soar through the air around them.

"What rhythm you have. You must be a dancer," Irene declares eagerly. She drags her gaze downward, pink tongue peeking out to wet her lips.

Crouching low, the young agent can see Hawkeye perched atop one of the bridge's arches. He takes aim at the metal coda's back, an explosive arrow notched and drawn. Jackson doesn't hesitate. He thrusts his hand out, sending another plume of fire at Silva. His intention isn't to strike but to distract.

Both of her arms rise, one wrist flicking up, the other forward. It's the only warning Jackson gets.

A shield materializes out from her vambrace. Its gray surface flushes under the splay of brilliant orange. Over her shoulder, Hawkeye's metal-tipped arrow skips in the air. It sails straight at the crouched agent. Jackson springs into motion.

The arrow lands feet away in an eruption of heat. The detonation launches Agent Wang into the side of an abandoned minivan. Its metal frame dents from the impact. Glass shards shower around him as his head brutally smacks the pavement.

The young man sluggishly shakes his head. The clamor of battle is muffled by the blood rushing in his ears. He suspects he has a concussion.

"You alright, Phoenix?" Agent Barton shouts through his earpiece. The hero's voice knifes through his brain. Nausea claws at the man's stomach.

The agent whimpers softly, fingertips leaving his balaclava-covered ear tainted in blood. Definitely a ruptured eardrum. "'M fine," he slurs, tongue leaden. His vision swims. The heated pavement soothes his aching muscles. Suddenly, the sun's warmth disappears.

Mercury casts her shadow over Jackson's kneeling form. "And you were doing so well," she tuts, lips pouted in false sympathy. "Look at those gorgeous eyes peering up all disoriented." Irene reaches down to cup his cheek, but he jerks away. His stomach lurches painfully and the world tilts. Her icy fingertips caress the mask over his slightly parted lips instead.

"Want to hear my secret?" She bats her eyelashes.

"Jack, get outta there," Agent Romanoff bosses into his in-ear.

"Nothing would make me happier," he mutters sardonically against the pads of her fingers. Hopefully, this 'secret' has everything to do with Archangel.

Irene beams, eyes twinkling in delight. Her fingers drop from his face to trail one down his chest. "She wanted a metal staff instead of wood," she purrs in his ear. "Something firmer," she winks, "with more vigor."

Jackson resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Get that, Tony?"

"Too loud and too clear, unfortunately."

Mercury's lips curl, eyes freezing. "You little--"

Thor abruptly cuts her off as he slams into her from the side like a train.

Jackson staggers to his feet.

Only a few Mercury Men are still left standing. Silva is fending off attacks from both sides--Thor and Black Widow now flank her. He can hardly see Iron Man over the arch of the bridge's suspension tower; the billionaire was instructed to keep his distance from the woman who can mentally bend metal.

Jackson fears he's still too close. Imagining the man's iron suit crumpling in like a paper ball terrifies him.

Fortunately, Thor's hammer isn't affected, but the captain had to leave his shield back at base. They all made sure to remove any jewelry before they left.

A fallen girder leans up against the tower adjacent to the fight. Seizing the opportunity, Jackson sets about climbing the beam. He's careful not to draw Silva's attention.

Looking down makes him nauseous. Instead, the agent focuses on the end of the shaft, where it reclines against the tower. The metal sizzles beneath his palms. He's almost directly above Mercury now. He tightly grips the weather-worn arch. A sigh of relief falls past his lips. One hundred feet off the ground, the girder drops from beneath him.

Gravity takes hold. His breath lurches out of him.

His hands scrabble futilely down the limestone tower. He desperately grasps at its gritty surface. His blunt nails chip against the wall. Exposed brick snags under his fingers. His arm lurches, muscles pulling taut with tension. He grunts as all of his body weight pulls on his shoulder.

"Where were you going, kid?" Iron Man hovers next to him. "Grab on. I'll fly ya down."

He extends his hand toward the younger man.

All Jackson can focus on is Tony, in his metal suit, floating directly above Silva. The agent shakes his head. "You're too close, Tony!"

If Jackson were to look down--which he absolutely won't--he would see the fight for the diversion that it is.

"You've gotta trust us, Phoenix!" Stark shouts.

"If she sees you, she'll crush you, Tony!" Agent Wang's arm trembles imperceptibly. "I can get down on my own!"

To prove his point, Jackson finds a foothold a little way down and reaches for it.

"Goddamn it, Jack, just trust us! We're holding her off down here, but soon she'll realize you're up there!" Romanoff barks discreetly into her mic.

The youngest agent squeezes his eyes shut. He rests his forehead against the oven-like stone wall. The back of his skull throbs. A fat bead of sweat trickles down his spine.

Tony offers his hand once more, tone low and promising. "I won't let you go, Jacky."

Jackson glimpses at him over his straining shoulder. A split-second flicker of genuine terror glints in his amber eyes. The kid didn't outwardly show fear. If anything, he always came across as vaguely excited, charged with adrenaline and youthful energy. This display of honest emotion has Tony retracting his faceplate, unveiling what he hopes is an expression of trust and encouragement.

Jackson claps his hand in that of the Iron Man suit.

The metal beneath his palm contorts and slices at their hands. They both let go with a cry. "No!" Tony bellows.

Mercury grins manically up at the billionaire, daring Iron Man to swoop down and catch the agent's plummeting form.

"I've got him, Stark!" Thor swivels his hammer in a tight circle.

Tony reluctantly backs off, his gut twisting in guilt. Jackson's horrified expression flashes before his eyes. His muscles tense as Thor meets Jackson's dropping body, plucking him from the air a moment before impact.

The demigod sets the agent on his feet, eyes tight with worry. "Are you injured, Son of Jack?"

"I'm okay. Thanks, big guy," Jackson pats his back reassuringly. Sparkly dots momentarily dance across his vision. He blinks heavily, and they scatter.

Tony's shoulders sag in relief next to Hawkeye. He brings his hand up. The armor of his suit is warped, and crimson, knife-life protrusions stick out away from him. Blood drips along the edges, and bile burns at the back of his throat. He turns to the fight at the same time Hulk backhands the metal coda off of the bridge with his gargantuan hand.

Agent Wang watches as she reaches toward them. A glistening silver branch reaches out to catch her. Without hesitating, the young agent unholsters his Glock, cocks the hammer, and empties his clip at her in one fluid motion. The slight recoil of the weapon in his hand is familiar and comforting.

The sprouting metal limb lulls as Mercury gestures to flick all of the bullets away. Her body plunges into the East River.

The Avengers scan the water for any hint of platinum blonde. Nothing surfaces the tumultuous waves. After a few minutes, Jackson feels a hand slot with his. Natasha brings his bloody palm up for inspection.

Tony touches down hard on his other side and steps out of his suit. Big, guilt-ridden brown eyes zero in on his mangled hand.

"Good thing you're ambidextrous, huh kid?" Tony smiles weakly, the joke falling flat.

Natasha removes her jacket to use as a makeshift bandage. "He's lucky it didn't take his hand," she glares at them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voila!
> 
> It will be a while before I can post another chapter (probably like a week), so I wanted to leave with this one. It's one of my favorites.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy your weekends! Make sure to comment below! I love hearing from you guys :D


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